


As a Stone

by AlulaSpeaks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s12e09 First Blood, First Kiss, M/M, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlulaSpeaks/pseuds/AlulaSpeaks
Summary: Sam stands in front of the door to his room. Every muscle in his body is tight with an unnameable apprehension. Sam is immovable, inanimate. Flat and lifeless as stone, as concrete. A cell wall.





	

Sam stands in front of the door to his room. Every muscle in his body is tight with an unnameable apprehension. Sam is immovable, inanimate. Flat and lifeless as stone, as concrete. A cell wall. Five minutes pass in this silent standoff with his door. Minute dragging after minute in paralyzed mobility. Sam cannot bear to trade one underground bunker for another, that cell for this room. Not now, not alone.

But his body loosens, shakes away the mantle of stone which bore him this far but no further, and turns before he can process why. It’s Dean, of course, wandering through the halls or as unable to consign himself to solitude as Sam. He has stumbled upon Sam’s attempt to transmute himself into rock, and drawn up beside him without Sam hearing his approach. But Sam’s body knows him, turned toward him even after the long months of separation, already realigned in their mad bid for freedom.

Dean looks at Sam for long moments and no matter how hard Sam tries, he simply cannot force his mouth to shape words or his lungs to breathe sound into them. Dean nods to himself and reaches around Sam to open his door.

“Grab your pillow,” Dean says and walks down the hall to his own room.

Relief and his body’s natural inclination to reclaim its orbit around Dean propel Sam forward long enough to change into his sleep clothes, grab his pillow, and follow Dean to his room.

Dean is already in bed with the covers turned down for Sam. A double can scarcely hold them both, so they lay with their shoulders and arms pressed together. Dean’s mattress is soft and forgiving, comfortable and comforting and it soaks into Sam like Dean’s body heat. It feels so good. It feels too good, and yet it is not enough. Sam cannot be made to be soft because when he is, he wants things that could shake apart his world. And he wants them now more than ever he has before.

How quickly a comfort becomes a mistake. Sam should leave, but that would mean being alone. Again. So soon after reclaiming freedom to die the death of isolation. Sam can’t do it. The tension in his mind trembles through his body and into Dean’s arm.

Dean turns on his side. “Sam?” he asks, and his voice triggers a tectonic shift, an earthquake of need.

Sam throws his arm over his eyes, hides in shadow and calls up the image of a stone. Solid. Steady. Hard to break. Be as a stone, he tells himself. Call forth the ages of the earth and be unmoved.

Even so there are forces which move the earth. Dean says, “Aw, Sammy” like an aftershock, devastating to an already fractured construct. He grabs Sam’s far shoulder and tugs until Sam is laying on his side, facing Dean.

Sam’s arm falls away from his eyes. Dean is so close, his focus so intently on Sam, that Sam’s heart stutters in his chest. The sooty smudge of Dean’s eyelashes flutter when Sam sighs. It’s too much.

Any rock under the right conditions will break. Any rock under enough pressure will melt. Sam surges forward and crushes his mouth to Dean’s. Dean startles, but does not pull away, so Sam slicks his tongue over the seam of Dean’s lips.

Dean groans and reaches up to cup Sam’s face. He presses in, changes the angle of the kiss. Want like a flood follows the taste of him as he licks his way into Sam’s mouth.

And if Sam cannot be soft, if he cannot be stone, then let him be this. Molten. Caught in the convection current of his brother’s heat, swept along into movement and made to feel alive.

Dean breaks the kiss and brings their foreheads together, his breath shivering the air between them.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Yeah, okay,” and he rubs his thumb over the stubble on Sam’s cheek. For the first time in months, Sam does not feel himself a fault line. If he moves, worlds will not collapse. For he can be nothing but what Dean also is. They are continents meant to collide, causing great and terrible upheaval, and in so doing birthing new mountains, tall enough to pierce the sky.


End file.
